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Past coffee downed in a hurried throw
in preparation of working fray,
I glanced through branches to skies that know
the paths in crystalline starry glow-
Orion’s thrust to the purposed day.

The lamp outside with its flicking bright-
ness, quite aware of the sight of day,
yet hums the songs of the fickle night
by noted stars in electric light,
its timing dances of twinkled play.

And while I’m scraping away the Frost
i wonder how best
to describe symphonies
(of change & chance),
the age-split frame of wood

or words
flowing
freer
down the page.

& i recall that
imitation isn’t always fake or fickle
but can Become the hIghest
form of praise,
of inspiration
or equality.

& i wonder if my coffee, k-cup Obsidian
( with hints of darker fruits )
had been a rather hot cup of tea &
some wires cast in ( as a PairOfDice )
to play w/ the improbables
that drive life

& i drive to town
as the stars flee
the moUrning of meaning.

Upon arriving, only Venus & a few
vestigial friends remain to influence
this life.

soon,
all the stars will bow out
and away
from the (yellow) Sun,
the bearer of Light
that has mattered the most
to life on its twisted paths
“and THAT has made all the difference.”

) tonight is own link night over at DversePoets. Come on over and chat a while. Brian is hosting..honorable imitation here..:) (

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